Becoming Angel  The Story of Angel
by Orlissa
Summary: Rewrite-edited version of my first English story, Becoming Angel. Angel does not open up easily, doesn't tell about her past easily. But she does now.


**A/N: This one little piece is my first ever story written in English, back from 2008. I was 15 when I wrote it, and my English was far less advanced back then :P I remember being pretty proud of it when I first uploaded it, but reading it now, I realized how poorly written it was. Not a long ago I saw the film again, and remembered this one-shot – and I though: why shouldn't I edit this? Bring the quality up a little bit? So I did :) I hope you'll like it.**

**Rating: T**

**Word count: 4120**

**Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you that I do not own RENT]**

One night, laying in bed, halfway to sleep, Collins, completely out of the blue, asked me what my real name was. And anyway, how I had come to be Angel? Who had given me this name? And how had I become HIV positive?

He was so sweet – he had always been – I remember, so eager to hear my answer, my story – and I know that he was eager to tell me his, too – but it was not something I talked about easily. It was not something I was ready to tell anyone; not even him. So, in the end I told him that it was a long story, and turned to the wall.

It's a very long story, indeed.

It started about twenty years ago, when I was three years old. I was a completely average little boy – cute, energetic, mischievous. Perfectly normal. At least up until my sister had been born. Little Lolita, my sweet, little Lolita. I literally fell in love with her the first moment I saw. I remember it so clearly; my mother laying in the bed, holding a bundle of clothes in her arms, and when it stood on my toes to see into the bundle, the most beautiful little chubby face looked back at me from its depth.

I have been told that everybody thought that I was spending too much time with a baby for a boy. My mother just smiled at these comments.

"She'll have an overprotective big brother who loves her to no ends, that's all." She said every single time. She was rather glad for my behavior, anyway; at least she didn't have to be worried about me getting jealous of my little sister.

As the years went by Lolita and I became closer and closer. She started to walk, speak and play – with dolls, of course. See, I have never liked play with boys' toys, really. God, I've never even liked playing with boys. So, instead of befriending with boys about my age and playing with them, pushing toy cars around and wielding wooden swords, I spent my time with my sister and her friends, combing dolls and hosting imaginary tea parties. My parents didn't like it that much, but they didn't forbid it either.

When I turned seven, we had a little talk about it. By then I had given away all my cars, superhero-figures and other stuff toys that, and played only with Lolita's toys. I even asked for a Barbie-doll that year for Christmas, I remember. My parents were terrified.

"It isn't normal," my mother said, shaking her head slowly. "Why don't you play with the other boys? I am sure they would love to play with you."

'I don't like them. They're rude.' I answered truthfully; they really were. I didn't like them at all.

"You don't even know them! You don't even talk to them!" my father bellowed, his frustration getting the best of him. He was angry because his only son didn't behave the way he wanted him to. I remember that I was scared.

"And it is a problem that I play with the girls?" I asked from my mum, not daring to speak to my father.

"No, it's not a problem…" she hugged me, but I felt that this hug was not like the other ones she had always given no. No, this was to reassure herself to feel more secure. It was not about me, not at all. "It's just… weird, sweetie. Just weird"

From that day, I started to try to act "normal", as my parents had dubbed. I spent my time with boys, started to play football, and play the drums. I thought that it was manly enough. And I found out very quickly that I had talent for it. My parents were pleased; I even enjoyed it, so I kept playing.

So, there I was, an average eleven year old boy, but I wasn't quite happy. I would practice for four or five hours a day, just to avoid my so called "friends". I was friendly to them when they were around, but I never enjoyed their company truly. But I was over the moon when Lolita's friends came over and let me play with them, always in secret, never letting our parent know about it.

I tried to be normal, I really did; I even flipped through the pages of a porn magazine which one of 'buddies' stole from his older brother's drawer. I found it disgusting, but tried to deny it, playing cool, telling my 'friends' how much I enjoyed it. They bought it; they never understood me, never knew when I was lying or telling the truth.

Then one night changed everything.

My parents went out, and I was babysitting my eight year old sister. It started smoothly enough: we played board games and told each other funny stories. I loved to make her laugh. She was such a beautiful little girl. She was pretty short for her age, had long, curly, dark brown hair, big, brown eyes with heavy eyelids, and amazingly beautiful smile.

So, we were laughing one of my stories, if I remember well, when she suddenly said:

"I've got an idea." Yes, every change in my life started with this little, unimportant sentence.

"What?"

"Y'know… now, that mummy and daddy are out… we could… well… sneak into their room, and" she leaned closer to me and whispered to my ear "try out mum's stuff. Just think of it! Heels, jewelries and make up!" she was so excited, she was technically jumping up and down in her seat.

This was a very strange thing about her, anyway. She was always thinking about me as her equal partner, as one of her girl friends. She had never seen me as a boy. Never. And I liked it. Almost as much as I liked her idea.

So we did it: we tried on my mother's clothes, put on her shoes, and used her make up. We laughed a lot. And that was the time I realized that I should have born as a girl.

After that night we repeated this little show, or game, or call you what you will as many times as we could. Every time, as soon as my parents left the house – which happened more and more often – we sneaked into their room. This went on for years; and as Lolita became older, she bought her own stuff – everything our mother used, so we didn't even had to sneak into their room anymore.

She knew me well, and she saw that I was a little bit jealous of her. She knew that I wanted to be a woman by then, I knew it too. During that time, during the first years of my adolescence, I hated God, I hated the Universe for making me a boy. I wanted to have everything, to be everything a woman was. And, to be frank, Lolita was the only one who could accept this. And she was the only one wanted to make me really happy.

So, when I turned sixteen, she gave me my first wig. It was so similar to her hair: long and curly. It was my first real step towards womanhood, my first step towards the person who I am today.

"I-I don't how could I say thank you for it' I stuttered, utterly touched when I opened her present, pulling the wing of the box.

"I know how," she smiled, putting the wig on head. "Come with me this Saturday to my classmate's. He is hosting a party. It will be fun. But" she added, "you shouldn't come as my brother."

"What? Why?" I asked. At first, I couldn't figure out what the hell she wanted.

"I mean, you should come as my sister. And you should come that way because I know that you would feel better that way," she grinned.

"No, no. It would never work' I protested. 'Everybody would laugh at me. Everybody would laugh at you! No way."

"Silly," she shook her head. "Haven't you learned yet what we can do together? I can do your makeup in a way that no-one will recognize that you're a boy, and you can act the way only a woman can.'

The part of the truth is that Lolita's life goal was to become a professional makeup artist. Not just to work in a small beauty parlor on the corner, listening to houswives tell their daily gossip, but to work with big movie companies, doing the actors' and actresses' makeup and masks. And she was very talented in it indeed.

"Well… for my precious little sister…" I started, still not quite convinced.

"Please. Pretty please!" She looked at me with puppy dog eyes. "And anyway, I have already told them that I am bringing my big sister," she then added nonchalantly, like it was nothing.

"Okay. You got me. We can do it. We can give it a try, at least." She literally threw herself into my arms.

"Thank you! You're the best sister ever!" Her statement surprised me a little.

"Sister?" I asked, holding her at arm's length.

"Why of course," she nodded. "You know, it doesn't matter that you're living in a boy's body – you're a girl inside," she smiled.

"And is it okay for you?"

"Of course! Which other girl can say that she has a big brother and a great sister – no! The best sister in the world! – in one person?" She exclaimed.

"I couldn't ask for a better little sis, either." I said with watery eyes.

Managing our plan was a little bit tricky. We told our parents that I was only going to take care of Lolita. To have an eye on her, watching, stopping her if she tried to drink alcohol, get rid of the boys who might have tried to flirt with her and take her home by eleven o'clock sharp – that was my work. Until this point, it was easy. But my transfiguration was a little harder.

Lolita had this pretty big handbag - we decided to put the makeup into it (Yes mum, I'll need all of them at the party!), while I took my woman clothes (Lolita's T-shirt and jeans with heals) and my new wig in my satchel. My father wanted to drive us to the party – but we insisted taking a bus. We had our reasons: we stopped by a public toilet on our way, where I changed and Lolita put my makeup on.

When she was done and I looked into the mirror, I was completely taken aback. If I didn't know I was seeing myself, I wouldn't have recognized my own face. She had done a magnificent job, making my skin look soft and smooth, my lips full and my eyes stand out. Thank heavens, I have always been quite thin; with a pair of socks stocked into the bra I was wearing – one of Lolita's friend's, since would have been too small for me – my physique didn't stand out like a sore thumb, like I expected it to. No, I looked almost… feminine.

That party was one of the best parties of my life. Well, a few people did look at me in a strange way, making funny faces, but no-one recognized that I wasn't a woman. I even flirted with a guy – God, if only he knew! And, for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like a stranger in my own body. I stopped being a boy – but it wasn't the time when I became Angel. At first, I was introduced as Carmen by my sister – that was my favorite name back then.

Anyway, I don't remember that party in detail. I only know that I danced, talked with guys, and scolded Lolita because I saw her drinking alcohol. But I think that the glass which I saw in her hand wasn't her first. But I didn't really care. Other than that, the whole night was a big mess of emotions, colors and sounds for me. One of the best nights of my life.

We left the party about half an hour after eleven, and got home after midnight. We got a month worth detention and a nearly an hour long lecture about reckless we were and how our parents were worried about us after this incident, but we couldn't be bothered by it. We just looked into each other's eyes, and knew exactly what the other was thinking: we had to repeat this little play as soon as we could leave the house. And we did it two or three times a month afterwards for almost three years.

Once we almost got caught: my father was working and my mum was sick. We thought that she was sleeping, so we started to prepare for the actual party at home, instead of in the public toilette where we usually did. We were in the middle of it when mum got up to have a drink in the kitchen. She heard our giggles and came into our room without knocking. When she saw my half-done makeup she squealed a little in surprise. But Lolita saved the situation.

"Easy mum, I'm only practicing. And since you can't model for me now, I asked him to help me out," she could lie into our mother's eyes without being caught; without feeling remorse about it.

"But weren't you going to some kind of party?"

"Yes we were – we are. But it doesn't start for at least three hours!' She smiled, and mum believed her. Well, she had always been her favorite.

But let's turn back to the story. So, we did it smoothly for a while. But one day put an end to it – and to my life as I knew it as well.

I had just turned nineteen, and Lolita wasn't even sixteen. I had a month to go until my high school graduation, and she was seeing somebody. Somebody who was at least seven years her senior. I think that she had told him that she was eighteen. As I've already said, she was a really beautiful girl, and she had just gotten more and more beautiful as the years went by.

I talked to her about it – about her man. I told her that that he was too old for her. That he was only using her. But it didn't work – she didn't even hear me. She was in love. And let me tell you, I was the only one who knew about this man – this Nathaniel.

So, this is how the things were for us. And that was when Lolita got an idea.

"Y'know what?" She asked me one night, starting so eerily like on that night years earlier. "Nat invited me to the Solar Club this Saturday. You should come along. It'd be fun." The Solar Club was the coolest place in our town – the big thing. Everybody – who was over eighteen – and meant something used to enjoy themselves there. There always was plenty alcohol, cigarettes, even drugs, a few said.

"I don't think that it is such a good idea," I told her. "It's not the best place for you…"

"Oh, c'mon! Nothing bad will happen! I won't drink more than I would at any other place, I promise. Please!" She looked at me with her usual puppy dog eyes and I gave in.

"Alright, you won. When and where do we meet him?" It was the worst decision in my life.

Well, the first part of the night was really good. Nathaniel had a buddy in the club, so he could get in us without any trouble. He was a very handsome man, I have to admit. Unruly, light brown locks, green eyes, strong jaw, tall, muscular body, cool tattoos. Every girl's dream. But he was acting a little strange, which I couldn't understand. And to be exact, I couldn't trust him either. But I didn't really care. I soon found out that there was some gay men in the club as well, I let my little sister live her love life, and went to pursue mine. In other words, I started flirting.

It was about eleven o'clock when I realized that something wasn't okay. I couldn't see Lolita anywhere. I hastily said goodbye to guy I was talking to and started looking for her. She wasn't in the club; it became obvious after a few minutes of searching. So I went outside, hoping to find her there. It had happened a few times that she didn't feel well in the crowded room and went out for a little fresh air. As soon as I stepped out the door, I heard someone scream. I recognized the voice immediately.

It was Lolita.

I started running towards her, willing my legs to go as fast as they can, hoping to get there before anything bad happens. I even fell to the ground when I reached the corner of the building, taking the turn to wildly. I remember feeling the pain in my palm, but I couldn't care less. For God's sake, my sister was in danger!

Her voice led me to a small alley behind the club. There they were – she and Nathaniel.

He was kissing her roughly, his hands wandering in her body, touching her in a way I'm sure normally he wasn't allowed to. Lolita was protesting - she tried to push him away, wringgling herself out of his arms, but she couldn't. She was so small and he was so strong. He tried to tear her blouse off of her, yanking at it; some of the buttons gave in, popping of, hitting the pavement in a soft thud. They obviously didn't realize that I was there, but I was, completely stunned, unable to move, when my sister needed me the most. Thinking back, I'm ashamed of my behavior.

"Nathaniel, leave me alone!" she cried out when she managed to wrench her face away from his for a moment.

"Shut up, you whore!" he slapped her, the force of it sending her flying backwards, the back of her head hitting the wall of the club. That was the moment when I get enough. I started to run towards Nathaniel, who was approaching my sister again. Before he could have touched her, hitting her again, I grabbed his arm, pulling it back with one hand, and punched his face with another. It hurt; I had never done something like that before. But I felt as his nose broke and saw the blood rush out of it, and it was enough consolation for my pain. After initial surprise, he fought back, his hands in fists, trying to get me. He was stronger, much experienced, but I was faster.

"Lolita, run! Bring help!" I shouted to my sister. She stood there transfixed with horror. "Run!" I repeated, as my face collided with that jerk's face one more time. She finally got it, and ran away, disappearing behind the corner.

The fight continued, he hitting me mostly, but I was relieved, because I knew my sister was in safe.

I don't know well what happened next – I might have gotten a few blows to my head, I am not sure. I only remember that Lolita came back a few minutes later with two bouncers, who grabbed Nathaniel, and called the police. After that I must have passed out, because I only remember the fuss of it when the police finally arrived: ambulance drivers, policemen, vibrating blue light and other people all around, like the audience of a show, eager to know what happened. I sat with Lolita in the back of the ambulance, covered with an old blanket, her head on my shoulder, sobbing lightly. Her face turned nasty purple where that scum hit her, but otherwise she seemed untouched. In the meantime, my whole body ached; my face, hands, arms, stomach. Everywhere he had hit me.

"Thank you." I heard Lolita muttering. "You're my savior. You're my guardian angel."

That was when I saw him led away by two policemen. Nathaniel. His face was covered in blood, and he looked rather sour. I could understand that. At that time, I thought that everything turned out right. That we had come out of this whole mess with only a few bruises. I was so wrong.

It took about half an hour to our parents to get to the club. Mum was rather worried than angry, but my father…

"You little ungrateful mongrel!" He shouted at me, completely enraged when he saw me. I still had some makeup and my skirt on, not to mention the wig.

"Dad, leave him alone!" Lolita protested from my mother's protective arms. 'She…" Her voice faltered, but she quickly corrected her mistake "He just wanted to help! I was looking for trouble, not him! Blame me, not him! It's all my fault'

"Shut up!" Lolita buried her head in mum's shoulder. "She, right? What were you thinking, son? How do you look? What are these rags on you?' He bellowed, grabbing my wig. He ripped it off of my head, ripping the bobby pins holding it in place out; he threw it to the mud, and stepped on it, ruining it. I felt tears in my eyes.

"Dad, you don't understand…" I tried to say, but he slapped me. Lolita squealed. My mother turned her eyes from us, doing nothing. My face burned.

"Don't even dare to talk to me! I'm ashamed of you! You're not part of our family anymore!' he spitted at me. "You are not my son. I don't want to see you ever again, get it?" He said as he turned his back to me and walked away, pulling with my sister and my mother with him. That was the last time I saw them.

But the worst thing came only after this.

I was wandering around the place just after this incident, not having anywhere to go, half conscious, when I heard the policemen talking. At first I just wanted to get away, but then I heard that they were talking about my sister.

"That little girl really has somebody looking out for her. Look at what've found. It was in the attacker's wallet."

"What's it?" I couldn't see them, so I was glad for the question.

"A HIV antibody test report." He said. Back then HIV was a pretty new thing, but I know what it was nonetheless. 'And it's positive. Just think about it what could have happened if that… boy wasn't been there…" I heard enough. I looked down at my hands; they were covered with his blood.

I went into the club's toilet to wash my hands. I held them for over ten minutes under the water, but it couldn't wash the open wound on my palm away. A piece of glass or a sharp stone must've cut it open it when I fell to the ground. I didn't know what to do; I started to cry in frustration.

I don't remember how I got home, but it was almost dawn by the time I stepped into my room. I packed my stuff, all things I found necessary, and wrote a note for Lolita, only for her. She was the only one who hadn't betrayed me that night. I told her that I loved her, and I was going to miss her. That I would never forget her, and I had to go. I asked her not to look for trouble, and to take care of herself. I told her to stay at our parents' home and not to search for me.

I found her in her room. She was fast asleep, her pillow wet from tears, her face red from her tear and purple where Nathaniel had hit her. I placed the letter on her desk, and kissed her forehead.

Then I left my – no, their – house, for good.

I ended up in New York two weeks later. I found a cheap sublet, and started to play on the streets. And I went to a clinic to test myself for HIV.

A few weeks later, in my flat, sitting on my bed, clutching my positive test report to my chest, I was crying. Crying for my lost family, my lost life, my lost hopes. But I was crying in relief, too. Because it wasn't my little sister who was sitting in a dusty, old room, in an unknown city, crying over her death note. For that one thing I was glad.

Where, here it is, I finally told somebody. This is my story.


End file.
